


Have You Seen My Boyfriend?

by Hakanaki



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Cuddling, Fluff, M/M, implied grimmons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-04
Updated: 2016-12-04
Packaged: 2018-09-06 11:05:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8748118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hakanaki/pseuds/Hakanaki
Summary: Searching for Wash wasn't how Tucker had planned on spending his afternoon off.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Tuckington Nap Week on tumblr that was a few weeks ago!

“–and then Church said… Caboose,  _you are my best friend._  Of all time. Forever. The end!”

Tucker groans into his arms and raises his head for the first time in twenty minutes.

“Caboose.”

“Would you like to hear another story, Tucker?”

“No.”

“Because I forgot to mention how Wash was  _also_ there, which is why I told you that story in the first place!”

“First of all, literally none of that happened.” He puts a hand up when Caboose opens his mouth again. “Second of all, I asked you where Wash was. At what point did you think it was  _story time_?”

Caboose sputters, affronted. “There is always time for stories, Tucker! If you do not want to hear stories,  _maybe you shouldn’t go around asking people about people who other people like to tell stories about!_ ”

Tucker takes a deep breath through is nose and lets it out of his mouth slowly, like Wash taught him. “Caboose. I’m going to ask you a yes or no question.” 

“Oh, is it time for games now? I like the Quiet Game. I am very good at it.”

“Caboose. Have you seen Wash? Yes or no. That’s it. Those are your options.”

Tucker watches Caboose think about the question very seriously. He almost gets his hopes up, because Caboose always  _does_ seem to know where everyone is.

“I would like to phone a friend. I would like to phone Wash and ask him where he is.”

Tucker simultaneously throws his hands up and pushes his chair back. “That’s it! We’re done here.” He stands up, leaving the chair askew, grabs his helmet, and walks out of the mess hall without so much as a glance behind him.

”Tucker!! I said I would like to phone a friend!  _Are you even playing this game?_ ”  
  


* * *

  
 “Let me get this straight. You’re asking  _me_  where  _your_  boyfriend is?” Grif raises an eyebrow at him from where he’s lounging against a box of provisions. The box is unmarked, but Tucker is willing to bet six months’ pay that there’s food in there.

Tucker rolls his eyes. “Have you seen him or not?”

“Dude, you don’t gotta get pissy with me. I didn’t lose him. Maybe you should consider a leash.”

Tucker bristles. “A  _leash?_ ”

Grif shrugs. “Hey, I’m not gonna kinkshame you.”

Tucker opens his mouth to snap off something witty and tastefully sexual, but he’s interrupted by Simmons coming around the corner. Loudly.  
  
”Grif! You’re supposed to be helping me organize these!” he screeches, armor covered in dust.  
  
”Uhhh, I am? I’ve got this crate right here. Totally organized.”  
  
_”You haven’t even opened it!”_  
  
”Exactly! It’s only _un_ orgnized once you’ve fucked with the original packaging! The crate did all the work for me,” Grif says smugly, leaning a little harder against the container.

Tucker sighs in the loudest, most dramatic fashion he can muster. “I seriously don’t have time for this. _Do either of you know where Wash is?” _  
____  
____”__ I, alreadytold you. Leashes, dude. Solve a lot of your missing boyfriend problems.”  
  
”What.” Simmons doesn’t even sound shocked.

“ _Right _,__  well thanks for nothing. Oh, and by the way--” Tucker grabs his sword from the mag-clip on his thigh, activates it, and swipes carefully at the crate. Simmons and Grif jump away from him in alarm just as a pile of assorted MRE bars come spilling out.  
  
_”What the fuck?!”_ they squawk at him in unison.  
  
They’re so disgustingly married, Tucker thinks as he about faces and leaves the storage room. And he is absolutely not just feeling petty because he can’t find his own boyfriend to be disgusting with.  
  


* * *

  
He spends the next hour becoming increasingly frustrated on his wild goose chase. He finds Donut and Lopez in the motor pool, but they’re having a fierce and largely one-sided argument about the color scheme of the proposed armor for the newly united Army of Chorus. Tucker really doesn’t feel like listening to the benefits of mauve over periwinkle for the millionth time, so he doesn’t bother to actually ask. Plus, he reasons, Wash spends a lot of time he doesn’t admit to avoiding any contact with Donut whatsoever, so he probably wouldn’t know anyways.  
  
He even bites the bullet and willingly initiates a conversation with Palomo. The little shit keeps as close an eye on the pulse of Armonia’s gossip as Donut does, and considering that Wash is in charge of the lieutenants’ training, it seems worth the danger of his brain melting out of his ears to just bite the bullet and ask.  
  
”Haven’t seen him since this morning, sir!” Palomo chirps at him. “What do you need him for? Is it, perhaps, something good old Green Team can take care of? ‘Cause, you know, we’re pretty competent here on Green Team.”  
  
Firs of all… ”Palomo, I fucking hate you.” He has to get it out of the way. Just in case Palomo forgot or something. “It’s _Aqua_  Team, and you’re the only one on it.”  
  
”Ehh, semantics.”  
  
”Whatever. I gotta go, so unless you know where Wash is, you can go--”  
  
”You should go talk to Agent Carolina!” Palomo interjects hurriedly. “I’m pretty sure that’s where he went after training today, because _somebody_  accidentally set off a chain reaction and knocked all the cones down, so he made us stay late, and he was like, _Lieutenant Palomo, if you’re the reason I’m late to my meeting with Agent Carolina, I will let her supervise your next CQC session_  and that’s when I learned how fast I could stack cones!” he says all at once, with absolutely no room for Tucker to cut him off.  
  
Tucker is torn between punching him in the face and, _he cannot believe he’s thinking this_ , thanking Palomo for offering the first bit of useful information he’s heard all afternoon.  
  
”Jesus Christ, Palomo,” he groans. “Why didn’t you say that in the first place?”  
  
”Probably because of my inability to communicate with people in an effective manner, sir!” Palomo responds, snapping off a salute before wandering off.  
  
God. He really hates Palomo.  
  


* * *

  
He finds Carolina in the weight room, doing bicep curls with an impressively sized dumbbell. Her helmet sits on the bench behind her, allowing Church to project himself.  
  
”How many sets of those are you gonna do today? Your upper body strength is already terrifying,” Church is complaining.  
  
”What, are you bored?” Carolina teases, her rhythm never faltering.  
  
”There’s only so many hours a day I can watch you work out,” he whines.  
  
Tucker is on a mission, but some things are simply too opportunistic to pass up. “Bow-chicka-bow-wow,” he blurts, announcing his presence to the room.  
  
Carolina gives him a glare that could melt glaciers, but Tucker has grown immune to the Freelancer Stare and simply winks at her. “Yo,” he greets Church.  
  
”Please tell me you’re here to give me something to do that isn’t this,” Church begs.  
  
Tucker ignores him. “Have you seen Wash today?” he asks Carolina. “No one seems to know where he is.”  
  
Carolina sets the dumbbell down and starts stretching out her arms. “Can’t say I have,” she answers. “Why? Does he need to be anywhere right now?”  
  
That’s the thing. There _isn’t_  anywhere Wash needs to be right now. Tucker had noticed this last night, when he was looking over the schedule, and had been looking forward to a nice solid chunk of alone time, which he’s now wasted over half of just by looking for him.  
  
”No, he’s supposed to be free right now,” he explains.  
  
” _Ugh _,__  you’re literally asking us to help you find him so you can get laid. That’s _gross_ , Tucker,” Church goads, projecting himself near Tucker’s shoulder.  
  
”Dude, you’re just jealous that I can still get action and all you get is computers and shit,” he says, crossing his arms.  
  
” _What? _”__ Church splutters. “I am not _jealous_  of you and-- that’s just-- what the _fuck _,__ Carolina are you hearing this?” Church screeches, his avatar flickering.  
  
”Check the locker room,” Carolina says suddenly, ignoring Church. She crosses the room to the squat cages and begins loading weights onto a bar.  
  
”The locker room?” Tucker repeats. “Why would he be there?”  
  
”Epsilon, there’s no physical training scheduled right now, correct?” Carolina continues.  
  
Church pauses in his mostly incoherent stammering to look up the information. “There is not,” he confirms. “Why is that-- _ohhh _.__ ”  
  
” _Ohhh _,__ what?” Tucker asks. “What the hell does that have to do with anything?”  
  
”Check the locker room,” Carolina repeats, beginning her squats.  
  
It’s the most he’s gotten all day. Tucker sighs, thanks her, and leaves her to her workout, Church continuing to bitch in the background.  
  


* * *

  
The locker room is not the most disgusting Tucker’s ever seen, but it is old and musty and smells faintly like a generation of stale sweat. As the only one using any of the training rooms right now is Carolina, it’s also completely deserted. Tucker checks the rows of lockers to confirm this, and even checks all the shower stalls.  
  
Carolina must have been fucking with him, he thinks. There’s no reason for Wash to be in here. He’s about ready to give up entirely and spend the rest of his well-deserved afternoon off in the rec room, already thinking of all the ways he’s going to complain about this to Wash later when he shows up from wherever he’s fucked off to, when he notices something.  
  
The locker room has a storage loft for extra supplies. It’s mostly old mats, which Tucker knows because Kimball made him haul most of those mats up there as punishment for falling asleep during a meeting. The ladder to the loft is usually stowed against the far wall of the locker room, but right now, it’s propped right up against the lip of the loft, like an innocent smoking gun.  
  
Someone is up there.  
  
Tucker wastes no time stripping down to his survival suit--the ladder is old and not built to accommodate power armor. The things he’s willing to do for this man, Tucker thinks as he shimmies up. He definitely deserves a blow job at _least_  for all the effort he’s put into this search party.  
  
His internal monologue screeches to a halt when he finally reaches the top of the ladder.  
  
A few of the mats have been taken from the top of a stack and laid out on the floor of the loft. Wash, wearing a loose t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants, is curled up on top of them, asleep. His shoes are lined up neatly against the edge of his makeshift bed. He’s even made a pillow out of one of the foam shock absorption pads and has another clutched tightly to his chest.  
  
It’s hot and dusty and smells like aged pleather and body odor. It’s the second cutest thing Tucker has ever seen in his life, because nothing will ever be cuter than Junior.  
  
This comes pretty damn close, though.  
  
Carefully, he pulls himself up fully into the loft and approaches his sleeping boyfriend. Wash is _actually sleeping,_ completely still except for the even movement of his breathing, his cheek all mushed up against the shock absorption pad. His neck is gonna be all kinds of sore later, Tucker notes.  
  
As quietly as he can, he undoes his boots and steps out of them, leaving them lined up next to Wash’s sneakers, and crawls onto the pad behind Wash. Carefully, he drapes an arm over him and lays his hand against Wash’s forearm. When that gives him no response, he lowers himself down and presses himself right against Wash’s back, pressing a kiss to the top of his shoulder blade as he spoons him.  
  
That gets Wash to stir. He curls forward a bit, muscles rippling in his forearm under Tucker’s hand as he squeezes the shock absorption pad a little. A sleepy, confused noise leaves his throat, and that fact alone lets Tucker know that he’s still mostly asleep.  
  
”Hey there, asshole,” Tucker greets softly. “You could’ve sent me an invite to your little slumber party. Spent all day looking for you.”  
  
Wash hums in response. “Sorry,” he slurs, relaxing back against Tucker’s body heat.  
  
”You should be,” Tucker complains. “I willingly spoke to Palomo today,” he informs him, adjusting his hold on Wash’s arm and shoving his other arm beneath their crude pillow.  
  
All of Tucker’s fidgeting wakes Wash up a little more, and he shifts himself around to his other side to face Tucker. He yawns and blinks sleepily at him. “Palomo?” he repeats dumbly.  
  
Wash looks so cuddly, all bedhead and droopy eyes, and Tucker can’t find it in him to be righteously indignant about his afternoon when Wash looks like that. He wraps an arm around his shoulders and pulls him into a kiss. Wash hums and sighs into it, his lips moving sluggishly against Tucker’s as if he could fall asleep right in the middle of it. They part, and Tucker presses one more chaste kiss to Wash’s forehead, rubbing his shoulders. “Don’t worry about it, man. Just go back to sleep. I’ve got you.”

They sleep through the rest of the afternoon, until inevitably Caboose finds them and breaks the ladder trying to climb up to the loft in power armor. Caboose’s repeatedly screamed insistence that he did nothing wrong coupled with Wash’s sleep-hoarse directions to Caboose to find another ladder make him want to bury his head beneath the gross shock absorption pad pillow and never return to the real world. Then he thinks of how warm and relaxed Wash’s sleeping body had been against his own for those few precious hours, and thinks he can manage another Caboose disaster for now.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, you can come scream about Tuckington and other RvB things to me on [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/hakanakiki)


End file.
